


I wear you like a tattoo

by ashleybey



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor, Fluff and Angst, Future Fic, M/M, Mickey is a goddamn artist
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-29
Updated: 2019-03-05
Packaged: 2019-06-18 06:07:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15479295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashleybey/pseuds/ashleybey
Summary: The guy is high, or on some serious shit. That’s the first thing Mickey notices as he walks towards the front door of his tattoo shop. The second thing he notices, as Mickey gets closer, is that he’s fucking gorgeous.AU, Future Fic, First Meeting





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time actually posting fic. Please be nice!
> 
> I’m rewatching all the Mickey/Ian scenes in preparation for S9 and having all the feels.
> 
> Most of the fic is written but tbh I’m hella nervous about posting.

The guy is high, or on some serious shit. That’s the first thing Mickey notices as he walks towards the front door of his shop. The second thing he notices, as Mickey gets closer, is that he’s fucking gorgeous.

 

The pounding on the door gets louder, as the guy realizes there’s someone moving inside, and Mickey’s getting ready to kill someone, especially if they might wake his son up. He takes the safety off the Glock he’s holding by his side. Its been years since they moved out of the South Side but old habits die hard, especially at 1am on a school day.

 

_Shit. When did he start think of his life in schooldays?_

He slides the lock quickly but leaves the chain on, tightening his elbow and half-raising his right arm, getting ready to throw down if he needs to. He hasn’t fought in a while, but is confident he’ll win; punching is his muscle memory, and he’s convinced he’ll never forget what it’s like being woken to fists and kicks everyday.

 

When the door opens however, the man isn’t aggressive at all. Instead, he’s excited, looking through the gap in the door with a blinding and even disturbing smile at Mickey.

 

“I need a tattoo” the hot redhead says, a little too fast and excited. He’s almost jumping, and Mickey realizes this guy is around his own age. He’s definitely on some shit though, and Mickey is half-tempted to steal something, maybe make his boring life a little fun again. But then he thinks about his 5 year old sleeping upstairs, safe and clean and naïve, and remembers why he moved them out of the South Side.

 

He can tell in a second the guy isn’t unsafe, but he needs to keep the noise down before Yevgeny wakes up or his irritating nosy neighbor makes a complaint again _(it was a one night and Linkin Park are an artist okay Nancy go fuck yourself_ ), he opens the chain and steps back to let the man slide in.

 

“I need a tattoo” the redhead says again, now grasping Mickey’s left wrist behind him as he turns to shut the door. There’s a spark of electricity like Mickey’s never felt, but the nails digging deep into his skin remind him that this guy is on something.

 

Mickey shakes off the arm, and puts the safety of the gun back on.

 

The stranger’s eyes widen at the sight of the gun, and the way his teeth suddenly dug into his top lip makes Mickey’s dick harden, reminding him how long its been since he last got laid.

 

“We’re closed” Mickey replies, finally meeting the man’s eyes and again, Mickey feels a stirring in his gut.

 

The redhead still seems a little hyperactive, but he’s calmed down some. At least he’s quiet.

 

“I wanted to get a tattoo now” the hot (taller than him, Mickey notices) stranger says, now looking a little despairingly at Mickey.

 

“We’re closed. And I can’t tattoo you high” Mickey responds coolly; his head twinges as he remembers he has to be up in 4 hours again, but he can’t seem to kick this man out. For his own safety, Mickey tells himself, as he fervently pretends not to slide his glaze down a few inches to look at this guy’s lips.

 

“I’m not high” he says quickly.

 

Mickey doesn’t believe him.

 

The strangers seems lost now, seemingly coming down or whatever it was, and Mickey suddenly notices how innocent this kid looks. He had to be in his early twenties, close to Mickey’s own age. Looking at him, Mickey is struck by how this could easily have been him, high and banging on a tattoo shop door at 1am, if he hadn’t gotten his son at 17.

 

Mind made up, Mickey gestures towards the sofa in the waiting area of the shop.

 

“Get some sleep” he says gruffly, turning to head towards the back of his shop, where the stairs to his apartment are.

 

He’s stopped on the way there though.

 

“What’s your name?” the guy asks, sitting down on the same and already toeing off his shoes. Mickey wants to comment on how ridiculously comfortable this man is, ready to fall asleep in a stranger’s tattoo shop, but something in him doesn’t want to drive the guy away.

 

“Ian” the guy says, bringing Mickey back to the present, out of his own thoughts.

 

“What’s yours?” the guy – Ian – asks persistently.

 

_Ian._

Mickey thinks about telling _Ian_ his name, or maybe telling to get out. He thinks about inviting Ian to sleep on the sofa upstairs – maybe Ian would take the hint, and Mickey could finally have a real dick in his ass again. But then he remembers his son, the one Mickey gave up everything for, the one thing in his life worth living, the one thing he promised to keep a normal low-key life for, and he turns back around.

 

“Go fuck yourself” he throws over his shoulder on the way up.

 

Only problem is, Mickey swears he hears a laugh as he’s closing the door.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry about the delay with this - life is crazy. Thank you for the positive responses!!
> 
> As I said, most of the story is written. Hopefully I'll have more time to edit and post this semester.

Ian wakes up to a pounding headache and an aching in his muscles that clearly tells him a low episode is coming. But the lack of the dry mouth worries him more – he didn’t take his meds last night. Knowing that he was out during a manic episode, unmedicated, scares him more than he wants to think about. Its been a while since he’s not totally remembered the events of the night before. He wakes up slowly, turning to his side to stretch and stopping abruptly as his knee hits the edge of the mattress. Clearly, this isn’t his bed at home, and his heart drops.

 

Thankfully, he wakes up alone and starts to regain fuzzy memories from the night before. He dined and dashed at a nice place – the poor server – definitely smoked up a little, and then tried to get a tattoo? He’s glad the guy turned him down, and he’s relieved he didn’t try to do anything worse. He’s wondering if he just should leave and spare himself the embarrassment of explaining when the option is taken away, and he hears voices from behind the door. There’s clearly a conversation going on, and the door opens to the guy from the last night (the hot guy, his brain helpfully supplies), and a tiny blonde kid jumping down the last few stairs.

 

“Ay” the guy – the dad, clearly, they look too alike for anything else – reprimands his son in a tired, gruff voice. They both stop at the sight of Ian, the guy looking blank but the kid skipping ahead to talk to Ian.

 

“Hi, I’m Yevgeny andI’mfive”, the kid tells him all in one breath, “but my daddy calls me Yev”

 

Ian looks down, feeling awkward about being walked in on like this but the kid is clearly too cute to not respond.

 

“Hi” he says, shaking a tiny hand, “I’m Ian.”

 

He realizes he still doesn’t know the guys name, and looks up. “And you are…” he trails off, trying not to notice the bluest eyes he’s ever seen.

 

Again, its his son that responds. “That’s my dad, Mickey Milkovich”.

 

Something stirs in Ian at the name, Terry Milkovich was the worst kind of southside legend, especially for a teenage gay kid, and he has a vague memory of Terry’s sons, a few years older than him but well-known for being avoided.

 

_Shit._ Ian really needs to talk to someone about this thing for dads.

 

They’re interrupted by a honk from outside, and all three turn to see a yellow school bus waiting outside on the corner.

 

Mickey and Yev run to catch up with it, Ian smiling at the sight of the knuckles with FUCK tattooed across them being wrapped around a tiny light fist.

 

He watches Mickey hug his son and shuffle him up the stairs, watches Mickey not respond to the cheerful bus attendant, and obviously watches the shape of Mickey’s ass as he stands again. It isn’t until he sees Mickey crossing the street towards the shop again that Ian realizes his lost his chance to flee.

 

He sees Mickey pretending not to look at him as he lights a cigarette outside, and Ian almost wants to grin as he sees a glimmer of hope. He crosses outside himself, steals the cigarette for himself and waits for Mickey to say something.

 

Mickey looks at him, and Ian feels something deep in the gaze – something unknown but beautiful.

 

“Breakfast”, he says finally, throwing the cigarette down and crushing it. He turns and Ian, like he’s meant to, follows him.

 

 


End file.
